


Follow the Moon

by fishyspots



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: 5+1 Things, Canon Compliant, Communication, Fluff and Angst, Growing Pains, How Many Ways Can I Tag Sleep as a Plot Point?, Lots of Episode Tags, M/M, Sleep, Sleepovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-12
Updated: 2020-10-12
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:20:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26964322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fishyspots/pseuds/fishyspots
Summary: “I thought there’d be fewer irritating businessmen waking me up once you left Ray’s,” David mutters. “Fine. I’m awake.”Or, five times Patrick and David talk about moving in together and one time they do.
Relationships: Patrick Brewer/David Rose
Comments: 54
Kudos: 216





	Follow the Moon

**Author's Note:**

  * For [peopleholdon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/peopleholdon/gifts).



> Thanks a million to [peopleholdon](/users/peopleholdon/) for the idea and the (entirely necessary, purely for research) rewatch to figure out when/if these two ever do, in fact, move in together before they get married. And thanks also to [kindofspecificstore](/users/kindofspecificstore/) for the quick, careful, and lovely beta. One final thanks to everyone on tumblr who asked WIP questions and got me excited about this fic again.
> 
> Title is from Sylvia's Lullaby from Finding Neverland.

1.

“Morning, sunshine.” Patrick sketches a hand through the air above David’s forehead. There’s something about this moment that feels precious. Breakable.

“Mm. Morning.” David says, because apparently that’s all he’s willing to agree to.

“Sleep okay?”

“Sleep.” David closes his eyes and rolls over.

So much for Patrick’s careful morning. He shakes David’s shoulder. “We have so many things planned today. Our first day off with privacy.”

“I thought there’d be fewer irritating businessmen waking me up once you left Ray’s,” David mutters. “Fine. I’m awake.”

“You’re not awake until you’ve brushed your teeth and done your skincare,” Patrick says. He’s been burned before.

“You’re a monster.”

“A monster who already brushed his teeth and would love to kiss his boyfriend.”

“Give me my bag.” David hates morning breath kisses when only one of them has it. Even more so when it’s him.

So of course Patrick kisses him, long and languid, before he drops David’s bag—an overnighter that Patrick could fit a week’s worth of clothes into and still have room for a pillow—into his lap.

David’s scowling when he pulls away. Some of Patrick’s favorite kisses are the ones where David frowns through them, and he’s not sure what that says about him.

“Heavy bag,” Patrick observes. “I thought we said you weren’t going to move in right away.”

David’s eyebrows lift and his lips press into a thin line. It’s different than his usual I-love-you-but-you’re-the-worst face.

Oops. Can’t tease about that yet.

“Well,” David gently shoves at Patrick until he can stand, then grabs his bag and walks into the bathroom (with a door, thank god). “I can’t tell if it’s sweet or naive that you think I could actually move in with only one bag. Not even a proper suitcase. How many sweaters do you think I own, Patrick? Just a ballpark.”

This, Patrick can tease about. “I’ve always been afraid to get a solid answer.”

“Luckily for you, we agreed I’m not moving in.” 

Patrick winces as David shuts the bathroom door. He can hear the water running in the shower a few seconds later. They won’t be showering together on their first day off here, but Patrick probably deserves that for his misstep even though he had _plans_ for that shower. More room and a door that no overeager roommate-slash-landlords can barge through. It seems a waste not to take advantage.

He still gets out of bed and walks over to the kitchen. Hopefully, he can soothe some of his porcupine boyfriend’s pointy spots with food. 

David cracks the door half an hour later, and the steamy, heavy air filters out and dissipates alongside him. His hair is meticulously styled into place, and there are spikes—literal spikes—along the arms of his sweater. If that’s not a clear indicator of his mood, Patrick doesn’t know what would be. Patrick fights back the smile that threatens at the idea that David has ever been hard to understand when he’s wearing his feelings on his actual sleeves, no metaphor necessary.

“Oh, did you get groceries yesterday?” David flits closer to the eggs Patrick’s plating up and grabs one of the glasses of orange juice on the counter.

“I did. I should have asked if you wanted something, though—sorry.”

“Why would you ask me?” David takes a bite of the eggs, standing there over his plate on the counter. 

When Patrick asked him how he liked his eggs a few weeks ago, he was expecting that he’d have to learn something fiddly and technical like poaching or particular like timing exactly how long to leave them on the heat, but David had shrugged and said he’d eat anything. Patrick’s been cycling through all of the techniques he knows since then, reveling in the freedom of using the stove whenever he feels like it. He could use the kitchen at Ray’s, sure, but Ray had a habit of leaning against the fridge and narrating Patrick’s process if he was at home. They’re over easy today. David seems to be a fan, so Patrick mentally ticks off a box. 

“I like spending time with you,” Patrick says. “Sometimes that time coincides with meal times, and although Craig at the pizza place would probably jump for joy if we ordered every time you felt like it, I think getting groceries you like would be better in the long term.”

David’s eyes widen and he waves a hand toward his throat as he coughs. “Sorry,” he says afterward. “Wrong pipe.”

Patrick turns toward his own plate. He’s been sketching out the shape of the day in front of them since David disappeared into the shower, and they’re already running behind on his plans. “What do you want to do today?” He asks around another mouthful.

“It’s our day off.” 

“Yes,” Patrick says patiently. “What do you want to do on our day off?”

David looks longingly at the couch but shrugs. “Up for anything.”

“Not something I normally hear from you.” Patrick catches David by the waist as he turns to put his now-empty plate in the sink. Patrick kicks himself immediately for tap-dancing across David’s neuroses for the second time this morning, but this time, David’s nose wrinkles as he laughs. 

“Oh my god, I know. I heard it as soon as I said it. It’s really more of an Alexis line; I must have spent too much time with her at the store yesterday when you were out for all those pickups.”

Patrick puts his own plate in the sink and grabs David’s hand. His skin is smooth and his grip is strong. “Speaking of yesterday,” he says.

“Oh?” David squeezes his hand again. “Like last-night yesterday, or yesterday yesterday?”

He’s impossible, Patrick thinks fondly. “Yesterday yesterday. I got a few new product samples, and Eli is doing this new lemon curd instead of the usual jams and preserves. I was thinking we could try a few and see if they sell, but I assumed you’d have opinions.”

“You’re very bad at taking a day off,” David observes. Still, he allows himself to be pulled over to Patrick’s desk. He picks up a jar and turns it over between his hands. “Fine. We can talk about new products for one hour.”

“And then I might have a few last-night yesterday ideas,” Patrick says casually. He’s getting better at this kind of teasing, too, especially now that he has a place of his own to take David to after riling him up. Really helps with follow-through. 

The light, high sound David makes is part frustration, part excitement. “Ugh. One hour, Patrick. I will give you one hour.”

David lets Patrick talk him through seasonal specials and a partnership with a new jewelry maker who’s doing something special with clay. Then he lets Patrick talk him through a few last-night things, too. By dinnertime, David’s nimble hands are tying and zipping and tugging his pants back into place.

“Do you have to go to dinner, though?” Patrick asks. It comes out as more of a whine than he’s willing to cop to. 

“I think we both know that me skipping meals only leads to disaster.” David grabs his bag and pulls the strap over his shoulder.

“But do you have to eat with your family tonight?” It’s needier than Patrick would normally be, but they haven’t taken full advantage of the privacy yet. They’ve taken _some_ advantage, but there are still a few more hours before their day off is over.

“My mom’s got a new solo with the Jazzagals, so I think she might actually notice if I’m not there to listen to her talk about it. See you tomorrow?”

“You could come back here after you’re done.” Patrick runs a finger along one of the zippers David just did up. 

“I’m...meeting up with Stevie, actually?” David squints at him. Patrick isn’t sure why, because it’s one of the tamer Stevie announcements his boyfriend’s made in the past few days. If anything would be a cause for concern, it would be the bottle of lemon vodka the two of them finished off two nights ago. 

Patrick sees David out and then turns back around to face his empty apartment. That night when he’s brushing his teeth, his foot makes contact with a jar of night cream that must have rolled under the sink that morning. He doesn’t use night cream despite David’s best efforts. He sets it in the medicine cabinet, stubbornly arranging his own—limited—products around it. There’s plenty of room.

2.

“Does it still hurt?” Patrick pulls the cold compress away and replaces it with his hand. 

He’s big enough to admit that he’s been fussing over David since they got back from the game and David winced as he pulled off his borrowed Café Tropical shirt. 

David let Patrick pull him onto his lap once he was freshly showered and wearing a soft, loose sweater, and he hasn’t moved yet. Sometimes he gets squirmy, flitting away after a few minutes or bracing a hand on the couch behind Patrick so that he’s holding up his own weight. Patrick rubs in light, slow circles and listens to David complain about the narrative structure of the baseball and how the barbecue was not worth the dirt that he can still feel against his scalp. 

“Mm. The ice helped. I wish I had come back here for different socks before the game, though.”

“Why didn’t you? You made it abundantly clear that you weren’t going to be warming up with the team. You had the time.”

“Couldn’t have gotten in. And I would’ve gotten some from the motel, but I didn’t really want to spend any more time talking to Roland than I already did today.”

“You don’t have a key,” Patrick realizes.

“I don’t live here,” David says. “I don’t need a key.”

“What if you needed to get in here without me again?” 

“Why. Why would I need to do that?” David’s shoulders tense up the slightest amount under Patrick’s hand. 

“Well, if you wanted to sleep here or something, maybe.” Patrick can get a key made tomorrow, probably. If Ray doesn’t do it himself, he’ll at least know where to go. 

“Why would I want to sleep when you’re not here? I have my own bed.” 

“But you hate that bed. You said there’s a spring that hits the middle of your back.” 

“But it’s my bed.” David’s voice is gentle, and so is his grip when he squeezes Patrick’s wrist. 

Patrick lets it go, at least nominally. He’s still making David a key, but he doesn’t need him to agree to take it right this moment. David’s done a lot for him today. More than enough. Still, he can’t stop himself from saying just a bit more. "You can hang out here whenever you want. I know it can get loud at the motel." 

"Did Stevie tell you I was being too loud at the motel?" 

"No, I'm trying to give you a break. Trying to let you have some quiet." 

"When have I ever given you the impression that I like quiet?"

“My mistake.” Patrick keeps rubbing David’s back, using his fingernails until David sighs. 

Silence stretches between them until David clears his throat pointedly and says that he requires a pizza. “My payment for services rendered.”

“I thought the barbecue was your payment.”

“A baseball hit me today,” David reminds him. “Because you made me play a sport. And I had to wear a scratchy cotton shirt.”

Patrick’s pretty sure that the shirt was a greater injustice to his boyfriend than the injury. “What kind of pizza?”

David accepts Patrick’s topping proposals (for his half, not the whole thing, because apparently green olives are somehow wrong) and the slice that Patrick presses into his hand when their pie is delivered. Patrick’s trying not to choke on his crust while David stumbles through a sports metaphor with all of his newly minted knowledge.

“No, I actually do think I’m coming around to the point.” David frowns. “What’s the one with the helmets?”

“David, there are so many with helmets.”

“And if I said puck or goalpost, that also wouldn’t narrow it down?” David’s brow furrows cutely. He’s still putting himself out there for Patrick. It’s endearing. Patrick’s endeared.

“That might be hockey, but it could also be football.”

“Not that I’m against player protection,” David says, gesturing toward the bruise that’s forming on his back, “but why would they need helmets to kick a black-and-white ball around a field?”

Patrick takes a breath. This isn’t going to go over well. “There are actually two separate sports, both called football.”

David throws his hands in the air. “My metaphor was doomed from the start. Who names these things?”

3.

“It’s so early. Why are you leaving.” Patrick rubs his face against David’s upsettingly clothed chest. He was planning on showing his boyfriend just how much he appreciated yesterday—the early morning birthday sex, the surprise party, somehow giving him his parents back after over a year of evasive texts and half-truths, the feat of serving edible food at the cafe—and David is ruining his vision.

“I don’t actually have any clean clothes here,” David reminds him. “And I think by this point in the relationship I have made it clear that wearing clothes two days in a row is a hard no from me.”

“I should give you a drawer,” Patrick says. Now that he has more bandwidth free, he can't believe it took him this long to consciously and clearly make room for David here. He lifts his head and tries to catch David’s eyes, but his boyfriend is studiously scrolling on his phone. “David. Let me give you a drawer.”

“It’s a pretty small apartment. You don’t exactly have the space to spare.” David rolls Patrick onto his back and presses a kiss to his hairline. “You’re doing breakfast with your parents, right? I’ve got the store.”

The lump that Patrick thought he’d banished by finally—finally—talking to his parents is back. “You don’t have to do that.”

“I’m happy to. Fair warning, though: Alexis was talking to your mom about the smoothies at the café. I’d head that off before you get there if you can.”

“Did you want to come, too?” Patrick didn’t get a lot of time with all of his favorite people together at his party. He had a lot to tell his parents, and he got to sway with David at the end of the night, but the two halves of his whole weren’t put together for much longer than a quick drink before David wandered off toward Stevie. It was sweet of David, to give him space with his parents. He didn’t really want the space, but it was sweet that David offered it so willingly. 

“No, I think I’ll let your parents have you. And I had some cereal when I got up. When did you get that box, anyway?”

“You don’t like my shredded wheat.”

“No one in their right mind enjoys shredded wheat.”

“I wanted you to have what you liked here,” Patrick says. He’s watching David closely. Though he would never say it out loud—he values his life, thanks—David looks exhausted. Dark shadows underscore his eyes, and he keeps raising a hand to his mouth to cover swallowed-down yawns. 

“Well.” David’s doing that thing he still does sometimes, where he casts about for the right social response but doesn’t have any experience to draw from. “Thank you.”

“Bring some stuff for your drawer to the store. I’ll clear one out before I go to breakfast.”

“Mm. It’s really fine.” David puts a protective hand over his bag, like he thinks Patrick’s going to hide it from him. Patrick would be more offended if the thought hadn’t crossed his mind.

“I want you to have somewhere to put your things.” Patrick widens his eyes in the way that tends to make David listen. The bringing-out-the-big-guns way.

“My bag is where I put my things.” David shakes the bag, but gently. Last night’s sweater was Givenchy, after all.

“I want—them—here. I want them to stay here.” Patrick crosses his arms. 

“I have a lot of things,” David says carefully. “And I don’t know that I can actually have much more of this conversation pre-coffee.”

“I can make you coffee,” Patrick offers.

“Breakfast,” David reminds him. “The smoothies. Don’t forget.”

Patrick watches David go, his back straight and steps measured. He’s being careful about this for some reason, and Patrick doesn’t know why.

After all, David’s been staying here with him pretty often. That overnight bag has its own spot on his desk chair. 

He continues his survey of the apartment and all of David’s things—it’s a small place, so he can see practically everything from the center of his bed. 

None of David’s clothes are here, but David has always dressed based on his mood. He needs to have all of his options in one place. And Patrick’s spare charger is on the side of the bed he’s come to think of as David’s. There are a few framed pictures of David scattered around. Patrick sighs and heaves up off of the bed. He pads into the bathroom and opens the medicine cabinet. As he pulls out his toothpaste, he notices some extra space near the moisturizer David made him get. Better not let David see it, he decides. He might take it upon himself to expand Patrick’s skincare routine even further. 

Patrick tilts his head and keeps looking around the apartment. It's different here. David’s things are everywhere around the store. His expensive markers are in the drawers of the desk, and he keeps a few blank notebooks behind the counter. 

Patrick spits out his toothpaste, then sits back down on the bed.

He puts his hands over his eyes and finally—far too soon—lets the tears that have been clogged in the back of his throat since David stopped by yesterday and handed him a flowers-and-pizza-shaped bomb of his own making shake loose. 

Patrick still can’t get over the many ways David stepped out of his comfort zone, showed his hand, and made everything okay for him yesterday. But he’s realizing that he maybe hasn’t made things okay for David in the same way.

He checks the time after he splashes some water on his face and gets dressed—just enough time to clear a drawer. Maybe two. 

4.

Patrick walks down the hill—not a mountain, no matter what David says—with a spring in his step despite the pain. He can make this happen for them now. 

“Can you stay tonight?” He grabs for David’s hand and swings their arms back and forth, giddy and more than a little silly. 

“Can I stay with the person who just proposed to me tonight?” David asks, indulgent. He bumps his hip into Patrick’s. “I suppose I can try.”

“And the night after that?” Patrick asks innocently. “Maybe a few nights after, too. If you can make that happen for us.” His mind takes him back to a dimly lit car over a year ago—almost two years now—and the way David kissed him and made a whole new future unspool in front of him. 

David’s eyes smile before his mouth does. “I can probably do that.”

Patrick’s shoulders push back. Tomorrow, at dress rehearsal, if Moira makes one of her casual asides that she’d call charming and he usually calls tactless at best about how David’s basically moved into Patrick’s place, he won’t have to hold back a sigh. Patrick normally wants to bang his head against the wall at those comments and scream because no, no David hasn’t moved in despite all of his allusions and asks and, fine, begging that one time. “We’re going to have to get another dresser or something for the rest of your sweaters. Stevie told me about the love room.”

“First of all, Stevie needs to learn to keep her mouth shut.”

“Stevie helped me pick the rings.”

David waves a hand, dismissive. “Also, your place is your place.”

The glint of gold on David’s hand belies that statement, though. Patrick stops walking and grabs at David’s shoulders. He keeps his eyes on those rings. He put those there, and now he wants to put David in his apartment. 

"David.” Patrick rubs his thumbs against the joint where David’s arms meet his back. He can feel David loosen up.

"What?" 

"I want it to feel like your home too." 

"It’s just…” David stops himself and lets out a breath, slow and measured in a way that means he’s doing it on purpose. “I thought your place was just for you." 

"It was,” Patrick allows, but he keeps talking—fast—at the look in David’s eyes. “Temporarily." 

"You wanted a temporary home?" 

"No, I wanted it to be my home temporarily. But I want it to keep being my home. I just also want it to be your home." 

"Temporarily?" 

"I need to start over."

“Do we have to do this right now?” David asks, words tumbling into each other as they make their way to Patrick. His fingers pluck at the sleeves of Patrick’s hoodie. “Can we please just go to bed? I just got proposed to, you know. And I climbed a mountain.”

Patrick hm-hms, reveling in how flustered his fiancé gets with just a touch or a word. “We still have all that cheese, though.”

5.

“Are you coming home?” 

David looks away, eyes landing on the door to his parents’ room. “Um.”

“I’ll only judge you a little bit if you grab more sweaters while we’re here. I’ll even wait in the car so you don’t feel like I’m rushing you.”

“Alexis isn’t leaving,” David says all at once. He grabs Patrick’s hand and drags him outside. They’re sitting next to each other at one of the picnic tables outside the motel, trying to catch some privacy out of earshot of any stray Rose or Stevie, before he speaks again. “I don’t think she’s going to meet up with Ted at all. He was here, but they won’t...be there. Together.”

“So she’s not leaving.” Patrick runs a hand over the short hair at the back of David’s head. “Do you want to invite her over for dinner or something tomorrow? We can invite Stevie too. Make it clear it’s not a pity thing.”

“It’s just. If she’s not leaving.” David is watching Patrick for a reaction, which makes Patrick school his expression. 

“If she’s not leaving?”

“Then she’ll be here by herself. If I leave.”

“And?” Patrick knows he sounds petulant, but he can’t help himself. They were _so close_. 

“Can we talk about this somewhere else?” David asks. “It’s hard to have a real conversation here.”

Patrick bites his tongue hard to keep back a comment about how David shouldn’t want to stay if it’s so hard to catch a free moment at the motel. Instead, he nods. “Dinner?”

“When have I ever said no to that?”

So some things are still the same. Patrick rubs his hands together and accepts the hand David offers to help him stand. 

“Call in an order to that Indian place in Elmdale? We can talk on the way.”

“Mm, talking in enclosed spaces.” David pitches his voice high. “Can’t wait.”

Patrick rubs the material of David’s skirt between his thumb and forefinger. God, his fiancé is hot. He holds onto that feeling and the warmth that spreads through his chest when he thinks about David in general. “Don’t forget the pakoras.”

And they do talk—a real talk, no raised voices or ultimatums. He knows this kind of conversation is still relatively new to David, but it’s new to him too, to have a hard conversation and not look for escape routes. That’s what makes this so difficult. He’s doing more than he ever has to make a relationship work. But still, he keeps messing up. It feels like his missteps feed on themselves, one leading to another and piling up. He’s getting frustrated, because he’s paying attention and trying so hard, harder than he’s ever tried, and he still keeps putting his foot in it. 

Patrick pokes David's shoulder ten minutes in, after David’s stumbled through his reasons for not wanting to leave Alexis alone. It’s silly, because Patrick doesn’t need an explanation. Of course David has to take care of Alexis; it’s practically written into his genetic code to look out for his sister. "This is ridiculous. I sleep so badly when you’re not there. And that doesn’t make sense, David, because your limbs go everywhere when you sleep. It shouldn’t be comfortable, but now I need it.” 

David's shoulders draw in and up. “I sleep better with you too, if that helps. But that might be about the spring in my mattress.”

“I get why you have to sleep other places,” Patrick finally says as they pull into the restaurant’s parking area for takeout orders. “I just miss you when you’re not with me.”

“Okay.” David looks up and blinks hard. “I would like to state for the record that I really only sleep in one other place. Two, if you count Stevie’s.”

Patrick takes pity on his fiancé and reaches for his hand. “Dinner at the apartment tonight?” He makes sure to call it the apartment now, not just his.

“Agreed. As long as you go inside and grab the food.”

“Got it. What’s the order number?”

David pokes at the screen of his phone and frowns, “I didn’t get a confirmation email.”

Patrick blinks, slowly. “Did you actually order the food, or is this like that time you just thought about getting me a sandwich from the café and then argued that it was still a romantic gesture?”

“Oh my god. They know our name by now. Just go in, please.”

“Getting rid of me so you can debrief with Stevie over text?” Patrick teases.

David’s eyes go wide. “How did you—”

“I was joking, David.”

“Uh huh. Me too.” David taps out a pattern against the center console. “Do please go inside. I would hate for our food to get cold.”

“We’re about to drive it half an hour home,” Patrick says. He has to lean over and kiss the surprised-and-a-tad-uncomfortable look on David’s face. “It’s going to be cold.” 

But they eat it anyway, David waving off Patrick’s offers to throw his malai kofta in the microwave for a few minutes and even feeding Patrick a few pieces of his naan. David has an uncanny ability to order perfectly off of any menu. It’s tested at the café, but that’s more about the menu than David’s ordering ability. 

When the leftovers are neatly packed into the fridge at the apartment, Patrick runs the rough pad of his thumb against David’s collarbone. “Back to the motel?” He asks, voice as even as he can make it.

“Thought so.” David rolls his lips in and bites down. 

“Need a ride?”

“You and I both know it’s not a long walk.” David rolls his eyes. “Sleep well. Or as well as you can, since apparently you can’t sleep without me.”

“We do what we have to.”

+1 

“You’re going to have to tell me where to put these boxes eventually, David.”

“I haven’t really had the chance to scope out the space yet, though.” Patrick is the worst for making him do this pre-coffee. He offered David coffee, but that’s beside the point. David wouldn’t have turned it down if he knew Patrick wanted to talk big-picture. “The bedroom isn’t specific enough?”

“Between our bed, the dresser, and those new nightstands you insisted would fit? The bedroom is getting pretty crowded.” Patrick drops the box onto the kitchen island with less ceremony than David would have preferred—but then again he’s not going to be lifting any of those boxes, so he keeps his mouth shut—and pushes David against their new cabinets to kiss him. 

“And if I said bedroom closet?” David sighs as Patrick moves down to his neck. He hooks a hand behind Patrick’s head and tips his chin up further.

“But all my clothes are already in the closet,” Patrick says. 

David’s hands tighten involuntarily. “Um, I didn’t—”

“Please,” Patrick laughs. The air against David’s neck makes him shiver. “I knew I wasn’t getting any of the closet space. There’s plenty of room in there for you. But it’s still pretty full already.”

“You’re the one who wanted me to move all my sweaters in,” David reminds him. “But yes, I do think we’ll have to relocate your button-ups. I can probably give you a corner, but I would need proper incentive to make room.”

There haven’t been places for him in…a while. He’s made space, sure, and Stevie even helped him find a place for his clothes in the love room. But space hasn’t just been waiting for him like this. Hasn’t been ceded to him so willingly. 

Patrick pulls back and looks into David’s eyes. His shoulders square and a familiar fire sparks in his eyes, that gonna-get-the-money sureness filling David with calm. “Oh, I think we can make room.”


End file.
